Chimera
by revolutionsoftheheart
Summary: Set about five years after the end of season 5. Zelena is dead; Robyn lives with Regina. Life in Storybrooke is calm and uneventful, until the day Robyn develops a common problem for a child of her age: she has an imaginary friend.
1. Chapter 1

_Chimera; noun –_ _something that exists only in the imagination and is not possible in reality._

The first time it happens or, at least, the first time Regina notices it happens, Robyn is four years old.

Regina is hands deep in dirt, digging earth by her apple tree to make room for seasonal fresh blooms. The summer is in full swing, the sun at its zenith is hot on her back and she's decided their front yard needed a little dash of colour. Something to make it more lively. As she scoops a handful of earth and drops it to the side, she keeps a watchful eye on Robyn, playing just a few feet away and sometimes distracted by a passing butterfly. She's fascinated by the little things, their Robyn, always looking for new discoveries. She has her father's heart, there is no doubt in Regina's mind, and it will no doubt bring her courage and luck throughout her life, if also a, sometimes hazardous, sense of adventure.

A bird – a robin, she notices upon looking up – leaves its perch above her head, leaves rustling as it dashes through the thick foliage of the tree and a lonely feather waltzes down, landing atop the small pile of dirt in front of her.

Regina grins instantly, pausing what she's doing to pick up the delicate object between her fingers.

She's been finding these for four years, not every time she thinks of him, but most times, often enough to have associated their presence with him. She has no solid proof he's sending them, these feathers she finds when she feels lonesome or needs an extra nudge in order to keep believing, only her own gut to tell her Robin is in a better place, but she trusts it. Hope, ironically, has become the shoulder she leans on.

As she's about to tuck it safely inside her pocket, screeching tires and a high pitched scream rip through the peacefulness of the afternoon. Startled, Regina drops the feather, forgotten, eyes darting towards the source of the noise, the street, and she grows suddenly nervous, only now noticing the silence that has fallen upon her front yard, the small, bouncing redhead also known as her niece nowhere in sight.

"Robyn?" There's a tremor to Regina's voice as she stands, sweaty palm finding purchase on her thigh to help her up. " _Robyn_?" she repeats, wiping both hands on her jeans.

She walks to the side of the house, pushing away that gnawing feeling inside her stomach and hoping – there's that hope again – the little girl has just gone inside and forgotten to tell her. She has her hand on the handle of the side door when she hears alarmed voices in the distance, ' _Over here! Is she okay? Was she hit?'_ and Regina's heartbeat accelerates, her legs bringing her to a run without her even realizing it. Before she knows, she's in the middle of the street, fear knotting her insides as she stands still again, taking in the scene before her.

There's a dwarf standing next to the vehicle – she forgets which one, they're all the same to her – gesticulating restlessly as apologies Regina doesn't hear tumble from his lips. The small crowd that had gathered around the car rapidly quiesces and disperses upon her arrival, allowing their mayor to take the last few dreadful steps separating her from the place of the accident.

She braces herself for the worse, blood and death, the inevitable price to pay, the necessary stab of pain that comes with her happiness, but when she reaches the other side of the car, Robyn is still in one piece. Her niece is all smiles and bubbly laughter, spying her aunt in the crowd and running towards her, babbling on about how he's saved her and the butterfly and _Look, Regina, I caught it!_

Relief floods Regina's veins as she picks up the child and pulls her close to her chest, closing her eyes and burying her nose in Robyn's wild red hair, breathing in her fruity scent, fresh from the shower, and thanking every god of this realm and the Enchanted Forest for not taking this one away from her.

When her niece asks, "Can he please come home with us?" Regina doesn't think about it twice; she would have agreed to anything in that moment.

"Of course, of course," is her reply, and she rocks the precious girl in her arms, reluctant to let her go.

It's been two years since Zelena's death.

Robyn remembers some, Regina's made sure of that. More than once has she caught her niece humming lullabies her sister used to sing to her. When Regina asked her about it, Robyn said she didn't know where the song came from, just that it made her happy when she felt sad. The young girl also prefers green apples over red, much to Regina's chagrin, and she has taken a liking to pistachios, of all things. But while Robyn seems to carry some form of subconscious memory of her mother, she doesn't _remember_ her – a lack that comes as equal parts blessing and curse. Her niece doesn't miss someone who's been by her side her whole life and the loss will hopefully, one day, cease to give her nightmares, but she will also never know how much her mother loved her, in her own distorted way, and how it was this love, this strong, selfless connection, that had both saved and ended Zelena.

True love is sacrifice and, it seems, the foundation of their family history.

After Robyn's near-car accident, summer in Storybrooke is rather dull and uneventful: no villains, no demons and, more importantly, no near-death experiences for anyone. It's a season of play dates at the park and ice cream sundaes, of sunburns and many, _many_ (too many) family barbecues.

They're at Any Given Sundae when it happens the second time. Regina is about to order her niece's favourite ice cream flavour – pistachio, of course – when she feels a tiny hand pulling at the bottom of her blazer.

She glances down. "Yes?"

Robyn fidgets, shifting her weight on the balls of her feet, and whispers, "Can I get Rocky Road, please?"

In any other family, this simple request wouldn't have been a big deal, but for them, this is huge. For as long as Regina has brought the girl to the ice cream shop, pistachio has always won, no matter how many times she has tried to get her niece to taste something different. No amount of bribes were ever enough to make little Robyn change her mind about her order.

Regina chooses not to question her sudden change of heart, even though every part of her wonders what has brought this on, and she tells the clerk they'll get _two scoops of rocky road and two scoops of bourbon pecan, please_. Robyn's beaming smile is enough to quell the trace of apprehension that was threatening to settle in her chest, making Regina believe there really is nothing out of the ordinary about this.

They eat their ice cream and make plans for the weekend, or rather, Regina makes plans and Robyn happily agrees to everything her aunt proposes. At this rate, they soon won't even have time to do half the things on their list, Regina thinks, but she supposes there are worse problems to have. Robyn's insatiable curiosity never ceases to amaze her, and she would much rather have her hungry for knowledge and adventure than lazy and spending her days in front of the TV, like her cousin tends to do these days – she will need to have a talk with her teenage son as soon as she gets home.

It's thus a summer day like any other and Regina easily could have forgotten about her niece's sudden wish for Rocky Road if it wasn't for one thing: when she gets up to throw away their plastic bowls, she hears her little Robyn say, "You were right. It was very good!" and stops what she's doing, arm suspended in the air, halfway to the trash can.

Thinking her niece is speaking to her, she turns around, ready to reply, but dread roots her to the spot when she sees the child facing away from her, looking up at... well, nothing. There is no one here but them and an elderly couple, and they are looking at Robyn and Regina with concern in their eyes, concern that puts the mayor on edge.

"Robyn?"

The little girl looks over her shoulder innocently. "Yes, Regina?"

Trying her best to keep the quavering quality of her voice at bay, Regina asks, "Who are you talking to?" and surprises even herself with how steady her words are.

Robyn looks guilty for a moment, before she grins and says, "My friend," as if it's the most natural thing in the realm.

The couple's eyes are still on Regina, who gulps with unease, as she clearly reads the intent behind their defying look, as though they are just waiting for her to crush the girl's heart. She feels something burn inside her. Who do they think she is? What did her alter ego do to them to make them believe she would ever hurt a child that way?

They are some of those who never forgave her. If Snow were here, she'd tell her to let it go, and so Regina does, though she feels their gazes linger at her back, and it makes her shiver unpleasantly. She turns her attention to her niece, tries to ignore the twinge of worry that comes with this new development, and returns the little girl's smile as she tells her to hurry up because they're having dinner with the Charmings. Robyn's _friend_ luckily isn't mentioned again that night, nor does he make an appearance at dinner or the evening that follows, and Regina slowly begins to breathe again.

Maybe it was just a fluke. A one-off. Nothing to worry about.

Still, she keeps an extra vigilant eye on Robyn for the remainder of summer, but outside of bruised knees and insect bites, the next few weeks unfolds without further incidents, giving Regina no cause for alarm.

That is, until school starts.

It's hard, leaving her precious niece in the hands of her kindergarten teacher for the first time, and every morning after that. She's growing too fast, the days slipping through her fingers. She remembers as if it was yesterday, the trials of her conception, the injustice and the heartbreak she'd felt, and how she'd had to put her feelings aside for the child's sake. And now, she loves her, every part of her – doesn't know what her days would be like without that little girl who has so much of Robin in her it sometimes threatens to make Regina's heart burst.

He would be proud, she thinks. His daughter is thriving and succeeding, and she's so, _so_ loved. Every day brings new stories to their dining table: tales of her teacher's antics in class and mid-morning recess with Neal and Alexandra. Henry has fully adopted her as a member of their family, reading to her before bedtime, stories about Robin taken from his storybook, and Robyn always listens intently, as taken with her older cousin as he is with her. As often as they can, they take her to visit her half-brother and uncles in the Enchanted Forest, thus despite the rough start to her story, Regina thinks she can safely say everything has worked out for the best for this little peanut.

It's thus a mystery, really, when Snow White, now school principal, calls her at work, three months into the school year, and tells her Robyn's been talking to herself more and more, and her teacher is getting worried.

Regina tells her she hasn't noticed anything amiss at home. Nothing has changed since Robyn started school, she would know if something was wrong, and Snow assures her it could be just a phase; _many kids her age deal with loneliness by having an imaginary friend_.

An imaginary friend.

Her niece has an imaginary friend.

Regina's mind is like a broken record as she thinks of warm summer days, ice cream filling their bellies and the sun shining brightly in the cloudless sky, and her sweet niece's unwary mentions of a _friend_ , her voice innocent, her secrets unguarded. A truth Regina had dismissed because she didn't want anything or anyone, rather, to be poking holes into their lives; her happiness has always been fleeting. As long as it wasn't disturbed, she didn't want to risk it, and she hadn't. She had refused to see a problem arising right in front of her and was now paying for her lack of better judgement.

She doesn't go back to work that afternoon. Instead, she surprises Robyn by waiting for her after school in place of her nanny and brings her to the park, where they sit on a bench and Regina tells her five-year-old niece they need to talk about her friend.

"Which friend?" the child questions naively. "I've got many friends! There's Alex – and Neal and Philipp and–"

"The one only you can see," Regina interrupts, her voice meant to be soothing, but still making Robyn's gaze drop to her lap guiltily.

The young girl breathes a hushed "Oh," and looks down at her fingers, curling and uncurling around each other nervously.

If her niece's reaction is any indication, Snow White is right: she does have an imaginary friend – has had one for who knows how long – and doesn't seem to be in a sharing mood, given her silence and sudden lack of enthusiasm.

Robyn's voice is quiet, shaky, almost, when she finally looks up again and asks timidly, "Am I in trouble?"

Regina presses her hand to her niece's shoulder and musters a reassuring smile immediately. "Oh no, my dear." She rubs her thumb on a pudgy cheek. "You could never be in trouble for that."

"Because he said I should wait to tell you – that you would hurt if you knew." Regina's eyes grow wide – _he what?_ – but Robyn is still talking, "And he didn't want you to hurt again," becoming more and more agitated, tears threatening to spill from her beautiful cerulean eyes.

Her father's eyes.

Breathing slowly to keep her growing anxiety in check, Regina strokes the young girl's arm affectionately, until she's calmed and is no longer on the verge of crying.

Only when she's convinced her questions will be heard and not met with more panic does she ask softly, "Robyn, who said that?"

Her niece plays with her fingers for a few more seconds, and then answers, "My friend," her voice high, the way it always is when she tries to hide something.

Smirking slightly because the girl's apparently inherited the Mills stubbornness, Regina tries again, " _Who_ is your friend?" thinking, this time, Robyn will have no choice but to answer.

Indeed, the child opens her mouth but snaps it back shut in the second that follows, looking to the side, lips pressed together and face scrunching in a frown. Regina can only guess she's consulting her so-called _friend_ and anger rises in her belly, a testament to how powerless she feels. She's forced to watch, as Robyn has a silent conversation with someone she knows nothing about, yet whose opinion is clearly important enough to be heard. Whoever her imaginary friend is, he's been in her niece's life far too long, and already too long to simply be snatched away, and that thought scares her.

She'd turned a blind eye to the signs, even though they'd been right there for her to see all along, and she feels panic wash over her, the wave crashing over her queasy stomach. She could have prevented this; she should have prevented this. What would Robin think if he was here?

When over a minute passes and her niece remains silent, Regina insists, "Robyn, who's your friend?"

Her harsher tone has the girl sliding an inch away from her and it reopens an old wound in Regina's heart, making her teeth clench. She hates using this voice with her niece, but it's already taking her every ounce of self-control she has not to burn down the entire playground; Robyn will have to forgive the sharp edges of impatience to her voice.

She's picking at her small fingers again, serious eyes fixed upon her lap as she reflects on her options, and then she finally looks up, breathing in loudly through her nose and mouth for courage, and then she says three words that pull the ground from under her.

"His name's Robin."


	2. Chapter 2

Following that fateful day at the park, a cumulonimbus charged with memories looms over her head. Although she tries to get used to _his_ presence, to act as though it was not a life-changing revelation, Regina never quite gets her footing back. Every time his name tickles at the tip of his daughter's tongue, popping up in conversation when she least expects it, her heart slips and recoils a little deeper inside her chest.

Ghosts she thought long ago put to rest come back to play. His new omnipresence haunts her more than believing him obliterated had, for he is with them – with Robyn – then not really. His spirit is around, but nothing tangible allays the weight that has taken residence at the centre of her ribcage. It grows and festers with every innocent smile and comment from her niece, who means well, but knows not the tragedy her words have unraveled.

It seems there is not one activity they can do without Robyn recounting another time she did something similar with her imaginary friend. Her niece tells her about the time he made a fool of himself running after a squirrel at the park, the stories he reads to her at night when she can't sleep, the games they play at recess, and their secret meeting place in the forest – she doesn't reveal where it is, only that they have one – and Regina is stunned by the number of stolen moments, scattered over the last seven months, where Robin has been around, where he's made his little girl feel safe or laugh, and soothed her worries.

All those times he should have been _here_ , but wasn't.

Robyn worships the man – how could she not? If this imaginary version of him is anything like the man he once was, Regina can't blame her niece for getting attached. Falling for Robin of Locksley is just another thing this family has in common. He is worthy of every compliment, every memory, every tear shed over the loss of him. And tears there had been. So many tears.

Through no fault of Robyn's, the armour Regina had rebuilt piecemeal after his death cracks open in the days that follow. The injustice surrounding his demise stings anew and hopelessness cradles her in its familiar embrace. Living with a constant reminder of the man she lost sours her days and makes her bed feel empty at night, and though she smiles and nods when her niece tells her of her imaginary friend, to Regina, it is the worst kind of torture, to know him there, yet be unable to see or touch him.

Now older and even more observant than before, Henry immediately notices the changes in his mom, but this situation they've found themselves in comes with a surge of questions no one in town can answer, save for the man who can't answer them. Regina dismisses her son's concerns, tells him she just needs time to get used to this, all the while, deep down in her belly, anger simmers.

There is no one for her to talk to. She has friends, but if she hears someone utter words like _luck_ or _hope_ as they treat her with kid gloves, she fears they will reawaken the evil force she'd years ago finally learned to live with. Their hearts are in the right place; she knows they only do it out of love for her, but no matter how many crazy things they've seen in their lives, Robin's soul being around for his daughter is where she draws the line. She'd tried to forget the way he'd been wiped out from existence, to believe he'd had a better ending, but she doesn't want to hear this is fate's way of rewarding her efforts.

There is no reward in having the ghost of him cast a shadow on everything they do. They'd been doing just fine on their own before he showed up. Why would they need him now? How like him to think he can just waltz in and think he'll be met with open arms. It's exactly what he'd done during the missing year; she was crazy to think death would change him.

But even if his presence – or his absence, Regina's not quite sure how to put it – pours salt over reopened wounds, she tells herself that Robyn's smile at the end of the day is worth it. The way her own heart is ripped at the seams again seems like a small price to pay when her niece spends the better part of the evening under her watchful, if tearful, eye, chatting away with her _father_ in the living room. If the child needs some version of him in her life to be happy, Regina will gladly stand by and stitch back together the gaps left inside her chest, as she's done her entire life.

 **::**

"Time for bed, honey." Her knuckles hit the wood two times to announce her presence and she opens the door to Robyn's room wider, smiling as her niece looks up from the book on her lap. "Would you like me to read to you?"

"No, it's okay. Robin's doing it," she answers innocently, returning her attention to the pages in front of her and unknowingly sending Regina's heart plummeting down her stomach.

It shatters when it hits the bottom, years of feeling like she's not enough multiplying the effect of this refusal tenfold. Her vision blurs and she suddenly feels wobbly, as though her legs are incapable of supporting her own weight.

Making the short trip to Robyn's bedside, she mutters something that resembles a goodnight as she kisses the girl's red locks, heading back outside of the room before tears can spill from her eyes. She passes Henry's door without even checking on him – her son is locked away studying; she doesn't want to disturb him – and beelines for the master bedroom, closing the door behind her with a wave of her hand. The wood simmers with magic in her wake.

Finally alone, Regina takes her head in both hands and allows a soft wail to breach her lips. Her breathing quavers. She should have seen it coming. Robyn has been spending more and more time with him; it was bound to happen sooner rather than later.

How can she ever compete with the girl's own father?

Despite her best efforts to remain strong, water accumulates behind her eyelids, making them sticky and difficult to open without betraying her inner demons. She takes in a long and strenuous breath, filling her lungs until she can't possibly take in any more air, then expels the entirety of it through her mouth. She repeats the motion a few times, eyes riveted on the wall at the other end of the room and, just as she's about to finally release the tension from her shoulders, she sees it, there, sitting on the edge of the comforter.

A feather.

A cry of rage passes her lips instantly and the object of her ire bursts into flames, leaving a darkened spot on the light grey sheets. How _dare_ he? She does not need to be coddled, least of all by him. He doesn't get to tell her this will be okay when it is definitely _not_. Nothing about this has been okay since the day he died and left her and his children behind.

She grips the first piece of furniture beside her, a dresser, and uses it as an anchor as she tries to control the anger and sadness and sense of injustice at war inside her ribcage. Her blood boils, her chest aches, and it's all his fault. He should have stayed away, shouldn't have sabotaged the precarious link between her and his daughter, for of course the child is going to prefer her father to her aunt. She doesn't know he's not here to stay, doesn't know yet how cruel life is to those who dare dream. And who would Regina be to shatter her illusions? It's as though fate would have her be evil again and destroy a child's heart, when she's only preparing herself for the inevitable. One day, Robin is going to disappear on Robyn, just like he did on her, and she'll be left alone to pick up the pieces of another broken heart.

"How dare you?" The words slip out before she can stop them, spiked with venom and just above a whisper.

She turns towards the empty room, surveilling it with a hardened gaze, looking for anything out of the ordinary: a crooked jewelry box, a fold in the bed sheets – anything that would alert her to his presence.

When she finds nothing of the sort, her ire increases and her fists clench. "How DARE you?" she repeats, louder this time, glaring around the room. When still no answer comes, she yells, "Answer me!" thankful for the silencing spell she's thought to put on the door earlier. The last thing she needs is for the children to hear her conversation with her deceased lover.

She must sound crazy, she thinks as the room remains quiet. She's not a five-year-old; she can't get away with having an imaginary friend and talking to herself. She can't even _have_ an imaginary friend.

She scoffs. "I don't even know if you can hear me."

A sigh escapes her lips as she looks down at her feet, shaking her head at how ridiculous she's being.

"Why would you do this, Robin?" Contempt fills her words, but her voice wavers as she says his name out loud for the first time since this ordeal began. (She hadn't dared until now; saying his name made this all the more real.) It's one of those things he would have noticed, she thinks, the flicker at the end of a sentence. He was always observant, irritatingly so, even during the missing year when all she had to serve him were spats and demeaning insults. She raises her voice again, hoping to mask the emotion caught in her throat. "Why are you even here? Why would you put your daughter through that? Did you even _think_ what this would do to her? Of all the selfish things–"

She interrupts herself, then laughs, laughs and laughs and laughs, derisive and nervous, covering layers of insecurities with a scornful expression.

"Look at me," she raises her arms and lets them fall back to her side in defeat. "I'm talking to myself – talking to _you_." She grits her teeth. "This shouldn't be happening. You can't just waltz back into our lives after five years expecting us to welcome you with open arms. That's not how it works. I won't let you destroy everything I built," she declares with a firm voice.

Swiftly, she walks to the end of the bed and slaps away the ashes left behind by the burnt feather.

As her chest constricts under the strain of memories, the red in her vision bleeds out, revealing the hollowness of her ribcage and the exhaustion of her body. She lets her derriere fall ungraciously on a corner of the bed, sighing heavily, elbows dropping to her knees as her head lands in her palms. Between heart-felt whimpers, she whispers to herself, "Do you know how hard it was to let you go?" shaking her head, fighting back tears.

When it becomes impossible to keep her feelings bottled, she gives up the battle. Droplets fall to her cheeks as she thinks of the man she'd prefer out of their lives, for no other reason than it would be easier, would make his absence more bearable. How incredibly selfish of her.

Who is she to deny his daughter the joy of knowing him, in whatever shape or form makes it possible, especially as she only wishes the same thing was possible for herself?

She looks up at the soft knock on her bedroom door.

Sniffling, Regina stands and wipes her cheeks. "Come in," she directs to the person on the other side.

The door opens timidly as her boy walks in, his gaze flicking over her as he appraises her mood. She's not a danger to anyone anymore, hasn't been to a long time, but there are moments where she is less receptive to what others have to say. People can grow, but they don't change completely.

She's always glad to see him, though, and smiles, welcoming him in.

"Robyn came to my room," he explains as he pads into her room. "She sent me to check in on you."

Closing her eyes briefly, Regina gives her head a faint shake. "We both know which Robin sent you." She throws her son a knowing glance, a sad smile stretching her lips. "The request may have come from your cousin, but it wasn't her idea." She presses her lips together one last time, before sitting back on the bed, finding a sudden fascination in the weave of the carpet by her feet.

As her eyes remain fixed upon a rebel string which stands upright, Henry's light footsteps near her position, the mattress sinking to her right when he takes place next to her.

Concern emanates from him. He's rarely seen her so unsettled; recent years have found her less prone to breakdowns and outrage. She supposes this situation brings back rather unpleasant memories for him, too.

She expects encouraging words, the type of inanities the Charming clan would treat her to, but all he says is, "So, it's really him?" cautious, yet unsuccessful in getting rid of the edge of wonder to his voice. Though the years of battling villains every day are for the most part behind them, Henry has never lost that sense of awe when faced with the possibilities of magic, and as with every time she's faced with the strength of her son's beliefs, Regina is relieved to see her problems haven't affected his pure heart.

Detaching her gaze from the floor, she looks at him and shakes her head. "I don't know, Henry." She breathes in, and out, and shrugs. "It sure behaves like him."

Between the feather waiting for her in her room and this impromptu visit of her son during her meltdown, she's having a hard time believing him dead. It's as though he's heard, listening to her every word, watching her every move, and it should feel stalkery, but it feels just right.

If only she could see him, too.

Perhaps she can.

Wiping the wet trails on her face, she stands up abruptly and heads for the nearest dresser. "I need to go somewhere," she states, plucking a clean pair of socks from the first drawer. "Can you watch your cousin?"

Henry barely has time to let out, "Sure," before she's gone from the room, leaving him to clamber after her in the hallway and down the stairs. In seconds, her peacoat is off the rack and over her shoulders and she's zipping up her boots when he joins her in the foyer. "Mom, what's going on?"

Looking up at him apologetically, she offers a small smile she hopes will put his mind at ease. "I'll tell you when I get back," she promises. "I can't– I don't want to get my hopes up."

Her words earn her a glare and a sigh from her son, but he nods in understanding, watching as she stands up and grabs her purse.

Guilt gnaws at stomach. She hates to leave him in the dark like this, but she's still the mother, even though he's getting older. He has to respect her decision; he knows, in time, she'll tell him.

She's got a hand on the doorknob when he stops her. "Mom, are you sure you're okay?"

Keeping details from him is fine, sometimes necessary, but Regina had long ago decided never to lie to her son again. She turns her head around, furrows her brow and exhales deeply. "No," she tells him. "But I will be."

He crosses the foyer in a few strides and crushes her in a hug, pinning both her arms to her sides. "I love you."

Tears well up in her eyes. "Oh, my little prince." She wriggles her forearms a little to be able to wrap them around his waist. "I love you too."

 **::**

Regina climbs the steps leading out of her vault to find the forest bathing in shadows. Over the horizon, the sun is taking a peek, but the thick foliage that surrounds her is only letting through small patches of light. It's early – or late, rather; Regina still hasn't slept – when she finally exits her mausoleum. She trudges back to the road, the cold morning dew teasing her ankles and making goosebumps crawl up her skin. As she breaks the tree line, her hand flies up to cover her eyes, protecting them from the blinding sunrays.

The drive home is a short one, for most of the town is not yet awake and the streets are deserted. If she burns a few lights on the way, the townspeople will be none the wiser. Rapidly, Regina is walking up to her front porch, balancing an old, dusty grimoire on her hip, and letting herself into her home.

The foyer is dark, a stark contrast with the brightness of the outdoors, and her eyes take a few seconds to adjust as she closes the door, removes her boots, and makes her way to the landing. A strong smell of coffee reaches her nose and puts her senses on alert as she nears the kitchen. The door was locked when she arrived and she knows, rationally, there are a number of people who could have let themselves in – privacy, it seems, is an obsolete concept in this family – but someone who wasn't there when she left is in her home, and Regina's free hand fists reflexively as her palm heats up.

Fireball at the ready, she sneaks toward the kitchen, only to have her apprehensions appeased by the known sight of blonde curls.

"Emma."

The woman in question turns, steaming mug in hand, and smiles as though she hasn't just been found in a kitchen that is not her own very early in the morning. "Regina. Good morning. I made coffee – figured you'd want some." She makes her way to the island as she speaks, setting down her mug on the granite surface.

"Yes, thank you," Regina replies, an inquisitive tone to her words. There's no need for her to ask the question; Emma owes her an explanation as to her presence here at this hour.

It comes as she drops the large book she's carrying on the counter and opens the cupboard for a mug of her own. "Henry called," she says, "told me what happened." Regina rolls her eyes; she should have guessed. "I thought I'd check in."

"So the Sheriff makes house calls, now?" she derides without sparing Emma a look, doctoring her coffee with the cream and sugar the other woman had left out.

"Wow, you're cranky today," she observes, turning around and leaning back against the island. Her arms cross against her chest as her head tilts, and she looks at her with concern. "Did you even sleep?"

"I'm fine," Regina replies immediately, dismissive, but her eyes are genuine when they finally rest upon Emma, a sad smile pulling at the corners of her mouth. "Thanks for coming." She motions for the blonde to follow her into the dining room, picking up the grimoire with the intention of bringing Emma up to speed on her nightly discoveries. If she's right and the spell works as she thinks it will, she will need all the support she can get.

They talk until Robyn's usual waking time draws closer, then Emma follows her to the little girl's room.

Regina finds her niece still asleep, neck slanted backwards at an angle that can't be comfortable. As she stands in the doorway, Emma's reassuring presence behind her, her gaze scans every corner of the room, hoping in vain for any sign of _him_. Just as her bedroom the night before, the child's is spotless, the only indication of an imaginary friend ever having been around a drawing pinned above her headboard.

There they are, Robin and Robyn, or rather stick figure versions of them, hand in hand, as though the man hadn't left her when she was only an infant.

She feels the comforting warmth of Emma's palm between her shoulder blades, nudging her inside.

"Thank you," Regina mutters, her feet obeying her again.

As she pads to Robyn's bedside, the child stirs in her bed, consciousness tugging at the edges of her mind. When her eyes finally open, the smile she greets Regina with chases away the demons of last night.

"Good morning, sweetheart," she says as Robyn moves to make room for her on the bed, and Regina sits down gratefully, welcoming her niece in her arms as she snuggles into her side once she's settled.

Setting the large grimoire on her lap, Regina wraps an arm over the girl's shoulders and drops a kiss to her hair, taking a few minutes to have her all to herself. She's missed this.

But as the seconds tick and her gaze falls back to the book in front of her, she lifts her head and asks, "Robyn, is your imaginary friend in the room?"

Nodding, her niece points to the corner of the bed Regina has just rounded. "He's right there," she says as if the answer was obvious. "He's looking at you."

Trying to find the thought as endearing as her niece presents it, Regina presses her lips together, but she knows if Robin is watching her poor attempt at a smile is not fooling him. His daughter is only five, however, and hasn't yet learned to discern the subtleties of her moods, and Regina is able to continue, ignoring the weight of his gaze upon her. He's not real – can't be. She blames the feeling on her sleeplessness.

"Would you like me to be able to see him?" The child bobs her head excitedly. "Then we need read something together, okay?" Her gaze flicks to empty area where Robin is supposed to be, as she feels at the top of the grimoire for the piece of leather she'd used as a bookmark. The worn binding cracks when she opens it to an enchantment about making the invisible visible. A folded piece of parchment has been placed in the middle of the page, where she'd hastily scribbled notes – word changes, for the most part. She turns her attention back to Robyn and instructs, "Repeat after me," to the little girl who is looking at the old grimoire with such fascination.

One line at a time, each repeated solemnly by her niece, Regina reads the tweaked incantation out loud. She holds the girl's hand in her own, can feel the magic circulating in her blood, tickling her palm, while from the doorway, Emma watches over the scene, ready to intervene if something goes wrong.

As soon the last word is said, an intense white light fills the room, so bright Regina has to cover her eyes and Robyn's, turning her head away from the effulgence and tucking the child's into her side. Thankfully, it recedes after a few seconds, the same way it appeared, suddenly, and when she's able to glance around the room again, Regina gasps, eyes land on the one person she never thought she'd see again. She'd had absolutely no hope of the spell working.

He doesn't look any different then he did when he… A lock of hair still flops over to the side of his forehead. His face is adorned of a stubble that would have her mother scold her about what an unrefined man he is, but all Regina remembers is the tickling sensation it would raise on her skin. Besides, the neat trim he maintains speaks to his attention to grooming. He still wears that green leather coat he could never be seen without while he was alive. Sometimes, she thinks he and the one-handed pirate should never have been introduced to this material. It hides all the good parts, but it is without a doubt better than that bulky green coat he wore when they first got back from the Enchanted Forest.

His piercing blue eyes are staring at her with the same intensity she's looking at him. She doesn't trust her voice at this point, waits for him to disappear, as though he's but a mirage created by her deranged mind, but he stays this time. He's in front of them and doesn't move, and in wondering whether she should cry or throw herself in his arms, Regina remains paralyzed.

"Robin?" is all she manages after minutes of silence that dragged on and on, and even that is a little wobbly. Nothing in the world has prepared her for this, for seeing him again, but it is nothing compared to the violent thump of heart against her ribcage when she hears him speak her name.

"Hello, Regina."


	3. Chapter 3

"Hello, Regina."

Just when Regina thinks she's seen it all, when she's convinced – hopes, at least – she's uncovered enough about magic for secrets and surprises to be a thing of the past, her world stops and teeters – one false move will send her down the ravine that has opened up next to her, threatening to swallow her whole. Out of luck, her body tumbles down, and down and down and down, spins and scrapes and bruises, leaving her, battered and aching at the bottom, to pull herself up on her own.

 _Hello, Regina._

That voice – his voice – the one she thought forever silenced doesn't stop ringing in her head, a broken record. Just like her.

Had she lived a different life, had her past not been filled with its share of unbearable loss, she would have run to him, sprung off the bed in a matter of seconds, charging into the person who had left her life too early, overwhelmed with joy at the chance of seeing him again. It's not that she doesn't want to engulf him in her arms, to pepper his face with kisses and to feel his arms wrap around her in return; it's that she can't. Like it was with her father, Daniel, or rather his grave, and even her mother, to some extent, she is not ready. There is no hope to be found in the land of her mind, no happiness in the extraordinary, for she knows nothing ever lasts. This is just another trick of fate, another burn to mar her scorched heart.

And she feels guilty, guilty of being alive when his soul, the most precious of them all, has fizzled out of this world because of her. She stares at him before her now, rooted to the mattress, reminded that her love is an incurable poison, and Robin, like many others before him, had succumbed to it.

"Mom!"

Her son appears in the doorway, jolting her mind back to the present as he nearly bumps into Emma, whose eyes are still fixed upon Robin. The spell they cast must have made a bigger commotion than she realized.

"Henry," Robin greets the young man, unfazed, as though he hasn't just appeared out of nowhere. He has not, from his point of view, she has to remind herself. He's always been here, watching, biding his time. How must it have felt for him to have the people he loves literally looking right through him?

Wide brown eyes stare blankly at the man who just spoke, her son robbed of speech much like every other person in the room save the one at the origin of the disturbance. Thrown by this turn of events, he doesn't acknowledge Robin's presence, gaze turning to his mother for an explanation when he's passed the initial shock.

Regina swallows hard, doesn't know whether she should scream or cry or be elated by this new development. He's here. Robin's here – has been here for months – the realization acting as both salt and balm to her inner wounds.

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Emma shake herself into action. The blonde comes forward, heading straight for the bed and offering her hand to the little girl next to her. "Come on, Robyn. Let's go have breakfast. Give your mom some time alone with your friend."

"Okay," the child agrees innocently, not as perturbed as the adults by the apparition of her imaginary friend. She takes Emma's hand and pushes off the mattress, talking animatedly about the bright light and how Robin hadn't liked it. Regina stares at their retreating forms until their chitchat does not carry over any longer.

Henry scoots to the side to let them pass, but he lingers in the doorway after the other two have gone downstairs, eyes shifting between his mother and the man standing at the foot of the bed.

"Go have breakfast, Henry," Regina tells him, forcing a smile. "I'll see you in a few minutes." She can tell he's not convinced, but her eyebrow shoots up in warning, informing him this proposal is not open to discussion.

With a reluctant nod and one last glare at the man he used to idolize, her son is gone from the threshold, leaving her alone with her former lover and their all too numerous ghosts. They thicken the air in the room, rest heavily upon their shoulders, haunting whispers of unkept promises and things left unsaid hanging between them.

They're all far from who they were five years ago.

Filling her lungs with a fresh intake of oxygen and courage, Regina sets aside the old grimoire and stands, traipsing forward, reducing the distance between Robin and herself by half of what it was. Her eyes steadfastly remain open and fixed upon him as she moves, scared he may disappear if she does so much as blink, but they avoid his gaze at all cost until her feet come to a stop and she's left with no other choice but to meet his ardent blue eyes. Those haven't changed.

"So… you're really here?" Her voice breaks even though she doesn't mean it to, emotion looping around her throat and making it difficult for her to talk without betraying the whirlwind inside her chest. "How?"

All Robin has to offer her is a small shrug and a headshake. "Honestly? I don't know." He sighs, looking rather disjointed as he shifts his weight from one foot to the other. She can't tell what he's thinking, which strikes her as odd; they used to be so in sync. "You're the magic expert."

"This is unlike any magic I've ever seen," she says, tentatively lifting her arm, wanting to touch him, to assure herself that he is real and she's not imagining all of this.

His eyes follow her movements as she steps forward, closing the remaining distance between them slowly, almost reverently. She wants to make this moment last; she's dreamt of this more times than she can count, what it would feel like to finally be reunited by some miracle of nature or magic, but her imagination had paled in comparison to the way her heart currently thumps against her ribcage, breath catching in her throat. She hesitates, palm hovering a few inches away from his skin, before his small smile encourages her to close the last of the distance between them.

Her hand goes right through him.

His form fades and wavers, as though it's losing signal, and Regina's breathing stops altogether in the following seconds as she waits for him to stabilize. When colour comes back to his cheeks, she lets go of the air growing stale in her lungs, hand dropping back to her side, defeated.

"It seems also more complicated than we thought," she says, stating the obvious, and his face falls at the same time as she feels the pull of gravity on her own.

When did they ever have it easy?

 **::**

Though Robin remains intangible, his presence in town quickly becomes known. They can't hide him inside the mansion forever, especially when a few days pass and it becomes obvious he's not going anywhere. The incantation has worked even better than she thought and, although the rules of this kind of magic are unclear, for better or for worse, it seems Robin of Locksley is back in their lives.

Regina thought she'd be happier.

She is happy – of course, she is. Robin's back. It shouldn't even be a question.

But how can she truly rejoice when one false move reminds them of the fact that he's not fully here? If she thought knowing him there and being unable to see him was hard, seeing him and not being allowed to touch him is worse. Entirely worse. She'd run out of the room, asking for space, for a chance to process the new reality of their lives, which Robin, sweet, respectful, bighearted Robin, had been all too willing to give her.

Over the next few weeks, her space fissures into a gap, into a rift so big they can't reach across for each other. It's as though she lives with the ghost of him still, knowing him there, yet never really talking to him. They speak, but don't communicate, and the deep chasm between them deepens every day.

Contrary to her aunt, Robyn has again no problem adapting. The rules are not much different for her now that she's not the only one who knows of Robin's existence. She plays with her father as if he's always been around, and Regina yearns for a similar experience for herself, one she doubts she'll ever get, out of fate's (and her own) stubbornness.

She thinks she can learn to live with it, escaping to the bathroom or her vault when she can no longer hold back selfish tears. Henry can keep an eye on his cousin and her imaginary friend while she combs through her magical books for a way to make Robin whole again.

She thinks she can live with it, until the day she can't. Until the day it's impossible for her to ignore what she can't fix, and it seems she is the only one bothered by it.

Even though she was mayor for most of Henry's childhood, Regina has always made it a priority to pick him up herself after school. She'd done so until he was old enough to take the school bus alone and meet her at work. With Robyn now in elementary school, she does the same, rearranging her schedule, letting Maleficent take over meetings in her absence to make sure she meets her niece outside the main entrance as soon as the bell rings. On the rare days Regina is a few minutes late, Robyn knows to wait for her on the steps. There are teachers outside, making sure students leave with their parents and not strangers, but Regina isn't worried. She's never made Robyn wait longer than five or ten minutes.

Today is one of those days. She arrives after the bell, maybe two or three minutes past the end of classes. Waves of children are still coming out of the school, saying goodbye to their friends and greeting their parents or nannies with warm hugs. Regina takes her place amongst them, waiting for the little girl with untamable red hair she has for a niece.

The school yard empties slowly, families filtering out until she's the only one left, frowning and searching around the place with an anxious air about her.

"Regina?"

She snaps her head in the direction of the sound, spotting Snow White coming down the main stairs, looking at her with concerned eyes.

"Snow," she greets back, relieved to see a familiar face.

Coming to a halt a few steps in front of her, Snow asks, "What are you doing here?" seeing apparently nothing wrong with the picture of Regina alone outside the school on a weekday.

Regina scoffs. "Well, picking up my niece. What do you think I'm doing here?" It's not as though she makes a habit of coming to the school for fun; there are many unpleasant memories dating back to the curse haunting those grounds. She's having a hard enough time as it is these days, she doesn't need more reminders of the reasons behind her screwed destiny.

Snow lets out a surprised, "Oh, no one told you?" that makes her grow even more nervous.

"Told me what?"

"Robin came," she says as if it was a normal occurrence, as though the man hadn't died five years ago.

"Robin?" Regina parrots, still trying to wrap her head around that information.

Snow nods, smiling naively. "Yes. He was waiting outside her class at the end of the day."

Though the past was forgiven years ago, there are moments – this is one of them – where Regina still has this urge to strangle Snow White where she stands. "You let her leave with _Robin_?!" Her voice has gone deeper, anger rising in her chest life wildfire.

Her friend looks shocked by her sudden ire. "He's her father," she replies, all too trusting, all too _Snow White_.

"He's imaginary!" Regina yells, amazed by how she could even think this was a good idea.

Without waiting for an answer, Regina waves her arms in front of her and transports herself home.

 **::**

She materializes in the foyer, her displeasure immediately making itself known. "Robin!"

Stalking up the short flight of stairs and through the hallway in search of the man who thinks everything can be as it was before he died, she nearly walks right through him when she turns the corner into the dining hall. She hadn't heard him coming. The joys of living with a ghost.

"Regina." He welcomes her home, as if everything is right in the world, but when he detects the sour mood she's in, an easy feat with the scowl she's throwing at him, his voice grows concerned. "Regina, what's wrong?"

Hands clenched into fists, she meets his gaze dead on. "What's wong is you're not thinking."

"What?" He blinks at her, goes to speak, but she's too riled up to even let him say a word.

"You waltz in here, acting as though you've raised her, but you haven't. Zelena changed her diapers and taught her to walk. I took over when she died. I read to her every night. I prepared her for school." Her whole body is trembling, water accumulating behind her eyelids, but she refuses to let the tears fall. Robin is looking at her, stunned, and she has every intention to finish what she has to say before he has the time to come up with some ill-advised, clever comeback. "We have a life here. We have routine." Her voice has raised a few decibels since she started talking; she's given up on reining in her temper. "And you're throwing it all away!"

He's never raised his voice with her. Even after they first met in the Enchanted Forest, when she was far from cordial with him, he'd keep his cool. He'd always keep his cool. She admired him for that. It's what led to her finally trusting him, but after being on the receiving end of her wrath for the past few minutes, he does. He spats back at her some of her own venom, "I think I know what's good for my daughter!", and she sees red.

Without warning, a fireball shoots from her palm, making him jolt back, but there's nowhere he can go. The fire flies right through him just like everything else, and Regina lets her arm fall back to her side in the aftermath, as surprised as he is by her reaction.

She lost control.

Rarely – ever – has she seen Robin look at her the way he does now. There's no recognition in his eyes, as though she's changed beyond measure in the five years he's been away.

Maybe she has.

"You're not really here, Robin," she reminds him, throat clenching around her words. That's what she meant to do with her magic, make him realize what he seems to be forgetting sometimes, that he's not _here_ , but it wasn't the right way. She knows from his nausea-inducing stare that what she just did was beyond horrible, and, to make matters worse, the commotion has attracted two curious heads, who peek around the archway from the kitchen. Guilt gnaws at her stomach and she feels sick, disgusted with herself, but she needs him to realize one thing before she leaves: "You can't protect her."

Shaking her head, Regina's gone from the room before she says something else she may regret, mumbling something about him taking care of dinner if he thinks he can take care of a family.

His "Regina!" is a familiar ache, the end of many arguments they had in the forest, ending with her walking out on him before he could see how deep her scars ran.

He's one of those scars now.

She expects to feel his hand on hers, holding her back, annoyingly persistent, but she reaches the stairs without so much as feeling his presence behind her. Her fingers turn to fists as she remembers that he can't. He can't hold her back because they can't touch, and the loss of him hits her all the more. Her soulmate is here. She should be delighted to have him by her side again – by their side – but all she can think is this is a nightmare she never wanted.

The last thing she hears before climbing up the stairs is Henry's well-intentioned, "Give her space," and her hand covers her mouth to muffle a sob.

Space is the last thing she wants, yet it seems all she can ever have.

 **::**

When she heads back downstairs hours later, tear-dry cheeked and conscience heavy with guilt, she finds a dirty saucepan in the sink, remnants of tomato sauce smattered along the rim. A few drops are scattered on the counter, but other than that, all traces of dinner have been cleared, the low hum of the dishwasher filling the kitchen.

Cartoon voices lure her to the living room where Henry is hunched over a book, Robyn drawing on the floor, while Disney's The Little Mermaid plays on TV. When he spies her at the threshold, her son informs her there's leftover spaghetti in the fridge if she's hungry, confirming her suspicions as to who had prepared dinner. Not for the first time today, she's grateful for the well-mannered little boy she raised, thanks her lucky stars he has not been ripped from her by some malicious twist of faith.

She nods and mouths a _thank you_ , but she'd lost her appetite somewhere between her visit at the school and her fight with Robin, the man who seems nowhere to be found. Leaving the kids to their movie and occupations, she bypasses the kitchen and quickly surveys the remainder of the first floor. Her relief at his absence – she doesn't want to fight anymore – doesn't last long, annoyance simmering anew when bedtime comes and goes with no trace of the girl's father, and Regina practically has to beg Robyn to go to sleep. Red, tear-stained cheeks greet her when she breaks the news and it's only when Henry swoops in with his own storybook that Robyn relents and agrees that her big cousin be the one to read to her that night.

Her son winks at her in victory, but while pride swells in Regina's chest at the wonderful boy her son's become, she can't fully return the sentiment. Her corner smile is forced, anger and loss blooming in her chest from the bone-deep roots she's never fully managed to get rid of. She is who she is, Robin knows that, and yet he's playing coward tonight in a way he never has. It enrages her, and it hurts his daughter.

She bids Henry goodnight when her niece is at long last asleep, thanking him for his help and everything he's done this evening. He hugs her a little longer than usual, keeps his arm encircled around her shoulders and pulls her back in when she goes to leave, whispering an "I love you, mom" in the crook of her neck that has tears well up in her eyes.

When he finally lets her go, she pushes herself up on her toes, hands finding purchase on his shoulders for balance, and drops a kiss to his forehead. "I love you too, Henry," she tells him coming back down on her heels and bopping his nose with her index. "Goodnight, my prince."

She leaves him at his bedroom door and heads for the master bedroom, sniffling and brushing away a stray tear.

Robin is sitting on the bed when she enters and the air in the room lowers by at least ten degrees as their gazes cross. She comes to a halt halfway to her bed, wondering where they stand, but she'll be damned if she lets him ruin her routine. He's upset their lives enough for today.

Gathering her pajamas, Regina heads for the ensuite bathroom without a word. She removes layers of makeup from her face, showers and slips into more comfortable clothes. When she emerges, she is seemingly new, can almost pretend her life is as simple and soothing as her time spent under the running water.

Robin is still in the same place she left him, head hung low between slumped shoulders, elbows resting on his knees as he stares at the floor. He appears so small in that moment. She's always considered him broad-shouldered and tall, but in his deep dejection, he's lost his unbendable spine at the same time as his resolve. The solid presence who's had her back for years as she fought against villains and her own worst self is gone. In its place is a shell of a man who once believed in her, even when she didn't see any redeemable quality in herself. He'd had her back, an unspoken trust that had withered with his death, now (still) a wreckage.

Regina sighs, tearing her eyes away from the man she loves – the man she's unable to unlove, though they'd spent more years apart than together – walking around the room to her side of the bed. She lies down under the covers, looking for warmth she doesn't find once her skin makes contact with the cold sheets. Robin lies on top of the comforter on her left; he won't sleep – he doesn't sleep – but he pretends.

All they do is pretend, pretend everything is normal.

"Is this what our lives will be like now?" he asks when silence is all that exist between them, separated by more than the physical barrier of their realities.

She doesn't have an answer for him.


	4. Chapter 4

Morning finds Regina curled onto her side, dried tears prickling at the skin of her cheeks. She squints as she cracks her eyes open, the room bathing in a warm yellow glow. As her eyes adjust to the brightness around her, she notices the large gap in the curtains, left open in last night's emotional turmoil. It's what has sunlight blazing through her windows, making it appear as though it is high noon. Grunting, she slants her head backwards and cranes her neck, trying to steal a glance at the bedside table.

7:22.

Not even near midday.

Head dropping to the pillow in defeat, Regina sighs. Sun has risen the temperature in the bedroom by a few degrees; an uncomfortable soupçon of sweat has accumulated at the dip of her lower back while another curls the short hairs at her nape. Her hopes of sleeping in rapidly come crashing down. As she pushes the duvet to her waist, instantly feeling cooler, her ears catch whiff of the Saturday morning cartoons playing in the living room. Robyn's awake, sitting in front of the screen, waiting for her aunt to come downstairs and make their traditional weekend pancakes.

The quietude of the morning could almost fool her. If she didn't know of the turbulence bedtime had brought to their home, she could think this was the start to ordinary Saturday: a mostly silent house until she comes downstairs and sets up in the kitchen with Robyn, Henry dead asleep until the afternoon. She'd woken up to sunlight instead of the screeching sound of her alarm clock. This day has so far every sign pointing towards a peaceful weekend.

If she'd been any other fairy tale character, Regina thinks sadly.

She's the Evil Queen; instead of normalcy, she gets to wake up to a stomach churning with remorse – one of the numerous joys of having a past such as hers.

Brushing back her hair, she rolls onto her back, head turning towards the other side of the bed, where Robin is lying on his side, silently observing her: he hasn't moved all night.

"Why do you insist on staying here if you can't sleep?" she murmurs in place of good morning. Her voice is still groggy from sleep.

Robin wastes no time coming up with an answer, "I like feeling closer to you," which he says with an assurance that makes her pause. Her body grows roots into the mattress. Considering how they left things last night, there's no way he can be okay with what happened. Robin has always been annoyingly understanding, but he's never been stupid.

Silently, her gaze travels to his stomach, her hand tentatively reaching for him. A few inches away from his shirt, as close as she can without actually touching him, her palm hovers. Pressing her lips together in concentration, she inspects the area where the fireball went through him. "Did it hurt?" Regina whispers, retracting her arm as if burned by her own words, cradling her hand protectively against her chest.

Robin remains silent, likely hoping she'll look up at him, but he's waiting in vain. She will not meet his gaze, afraid of what she'll see there, in eyes that have the power to destroy her.

With morning had come harrowing clarity, the mortification that had failed to settle in last evening. She's supposed to be a better person – a good person. But what kind of good person launches a fireball at their (once) lover? Guilt gnaws at her insides, a familiar sensation, as she replays the scene in her mind, trying to pinpoint when – what, how – it had gone horribly wrong. She hasn't felt that visceral need to let it all out in years, an urge so strong trying to control it proves futile. A release she used to crave, feed on, depend on. She forgot how liberating it could be.

And it'd felt good.

The scalding heat rising through her as her palm heated up had been a salve to her bruised heart, warmth embracing her in its figurative arms, comforting. She's always found fire to be so. Even now, a different person than she was then (or so she wants to believe), she finds solace in the crackling of the fireplace, the dancing flames providing both heat and distraction, ambers carrying pieces of memories away as they float in the chimney.

When it becomes apparent she isn't going to move, Robin sighs, and answers in a reassuring tone she doesn't deserve, "No. It didn't."

Regina nods, almost imperceptibly, as her shoulders sag with relief, pressure finally releasing from inside her chest.

"It's… It's a bit like putting your hand in water," he continues, pausing to look for the right words. "Except I'm the water."

Like water, he'd wavered when the fireball had made contact with his intangible form, ripples of magic travelling through his body, an echo of some sort, breaking the illusion, leaving a distorted image on the surface. In the absence of disturbance, however, water stays calm and unmoving, giving the impression of an entire world existing in its depths. It is a force to be reckoned with, dangerous when unleashed, vital, yet terrifying.

Water extinguishes fire – is this fate's cruel mockery?

Slowly, Regina raises her chin, cheek sliding against the pillow until her gaze locks with his, brown eyes on blue, looking in their hollow depth for the man she needs to believe is there. Not only on the surface, but underneath.

"I'm sorry," she tells him, the quaver in her voice unmistakable.

As silence embraces the broken lovers in the bedroom, the distant sound of clattering plates and muffled laughter reaches their ears. It seems Henry has joined his cousin downstairs before she could disturb them, gifting them with privacy and alone time they desperately need. He's too good to her, her son.

Water suddenly wells up behind Regina's eyelids, unannounced, a feeling of hopelessness caging her chest. It's suffocating. Every time she tries to hold on to happiness, it slips away from her grasp. Why bother trying? Between Robin's passing, Zelena's sacrifice and raising Robyn, it had taken years for her to experience a day without dread or sorrow. But then, she did. And she dared to believe that was the end of her tests, that the unsteady balance between her past and her future had finally stabilized and that she'd be able to go on, unafraid of tipping over without warning. She thought she could do this. She thought she could be happy.

Before she disappears too far within herself, Robin interrupts her thoughts with a gentle, "I forgive you," and out of the corner of her eye, she sees his hand lifting then falling back to side. In ordinary circumstances, he would have put a hand on her hip or her arm, squeezed her flesh to offer reassurance. She looks up at him, defeated, but he's not done talking. "Now, can you forgive yourself?"

Regina's voice breaks when she speaks. "How can you be okay with this?"

"You apologized," he answers simply, as though an apology from her was all that was ever needed.

She rolls onto her back, eyes lifting heavenward before setting on the ceiling. She'd crushed so many hearts, destroyed lives and families, his included, twice over; an apology has never been enough. It shouldn't be enough, especially not for him.

But the thief she gave her heart to is stubborn, even in death. "Regina, I knew what I was getting into when I pursued this relationship."

"You didn't sign up to die!" She muffles her scream – the children are awake; she doesn't want them to hear – but desperation fills her tone, as it does her eyes when she meets his gaze. She doesn't see the bright side to all this as he wishes her to.

Robin shifts noiselessly on the bed – it still unsettles her, how his body makes no sound when it moves – lifting himself up on his elbow and resting his head in his palm to have a better look at her. "Had I lived, we would have fought," he states matter-of-factly, as though their current situation was unavoidable. "This is no different." She begs to differ, but she lets him go on. "I never expected this," he gestures to the two of them, "to be easy." She sniffles at his words, holding back tears that have been threatening to fall for some time, and he rushes to add, "Easy is boring," with a wink and smile that appease the tumult in her chest.

Gods, she's missed him.

His ability with words, never forced, always true, their warmth; his determination at proving her wrong and deserving of the happiness she denies herself; they were but distant memories she cherished, accompanying her in hard times. She'd never dreamed of hearing them again. His embrace offered her protection she didn't need but welcomed, his steadfast belief in her goodness both perplexing and refreshing.

"Let's just…" Robin starts, shoulders falling, gaze dropping to the mattress away from hers, "forgo fireballs next time." Regina looks at her hand, as if it was the sole responsible of her actions the night before, disgusted, a soft _oh_ escaping her lips as it turns to a fist. "They might not hurt my physical body since I don't have one, but they do hurt."

"I'm sorry," she replies, but doesn't look at him.

"You said that." He sounds apologetic even though he's done nothing wrong. He's only told her the truth.

A lone tear slips free of her eye, the wet drop rolling down her cheek before landing on the pillow.

"See," Robin says, "this it is the moment where you pretend I'm hugging you very tightly." He lets out a soft chuckle to dissolve some of the tension that has accumulated between them, despite the underlying frustration they both feel at not being able to actually do something as simple as hug.

This sucks.

It sucks real bad.

But the hint of a smirk hooked at the corner of his mouth is contagious, his eyes shining with love as he observes her, like they used to. Her other cheek remains dry as a hint of laughter crawls up her throat, surprising considering the last few weeks, but oh so welcomed. Her laugh, though a touch nervous, succeeds in lightening the mood, while simultaneously chasing away some of the sadness that had taken residence inside her chest. It leaves a small tingling sensation in its wake, little bubbles of sorrow popping and finally letting in other, happier emotions.

Robin titters too, all too pleased with himself, and Regina wishes she could poke his shoulder or kiss away his pride, anything to stop the rush of satisfaction she knows he's feeling. It feels like she lost this argument; she hates losing.

(She'd choose losing fights against him every day over not having him around at all.)

He scoots closer, close enough she'd feel his breath on her skin if he was alive. "How did that hug feel?" he whispers, smiling still.

"Good," she answers, her gaze never leaving his.

"Good," he echoes, mirth tinkling in blue eyes and dimples working their usual charm as if nothing had changed, and though she can't help sniffling because it's not true, nothing can ever be the same between them, she smiles back. "Now how about we join the children before they make a mess?" he proposes.

She nods, grabbing a worn, forest green Henley Robin recognizes as his from the dresser – they exchange a knowing look; she's kept it for sentimental value, much like the boxes at the top of her closet, filled with what little he owned in this land, unable to throw it away – before leading the way out of the room.

As they reach the top of the stairs, she turns to face him. "Robin, I'm not—" She pauses, inhales a bit fresh air and gathers the necessary courage to speak. "I'm not very good at communicating." _At being vulnerable_ is what she means, but even now there are some things she'll never admit out loud. Robin will just have to guess. He did before.

"I know," he says in a way she knows he understood what she meant. "I've got some work to do myself," he admits, "but we'll figure it out."

She nods but doesn't move, fiddling with the hem of her Henley. Admitting mistakes has never been her strong suit. Even with the Evil Queen put to rest in her past, she's proud – not too proud she can't recognize her wrongdoings, but enough so that they're hard to confess.

Robin doesn't press her to speak. He waits until she's ready, his patience ever astounding her. However explosive she's gotten with him, in life or in death, he's never left her completely alone. Even last night, he came to bed with her. What she did to deserve such a devoted soulmate, she doesn't know, but in this moment, she's thankful destiny has bound their lives together with a red string.

"I thought… I wanted space," she tells him when her breathing has evened.

"I thought you wanted space," he answers. It's what she'd asked of him after all.

She nods and corrects, "I don't," to which he nods back.

"Okay," he says, and she says it too.

Having successfully told each other what they felt without yelling, they look at each other, relishing the new hope that is blossoming between them.

With the corners of her mouth upturned and confident even gravity won't pull them down, Regina turns around and plants her foot on the first step.

Robin calls her back. "I know you don't like… _this_ ," he points towards himself, his whole body, designates his lack of tangibility without calling it so, "but Robyn's my daughter. I need to feel like I have some role in her life. Something more than being her imaginary friend."

Regina climbs back the step she'd just descended. "You do," she assures. "I just… I want you two – all of you," she amends, thinking of their entire family, Henry and Roland included, "to be safe." They'll have to go to the Enchanted Forest soon, she muses. That's another conversation they've been avoiding, but she needs coffee first. "You– _We_ need to be careful."

Robin's chin dips in acquiescence. "I understand."

"We'll figure it out," she promises, parroting his words from earlier, imitating his lilt.

He smiles.

As they finally make it down the stairs, later than planned, Robin leans towards her and whispers in her ear, "See? I told you we could do this," annoyingly right as he was, of course.

She glances at him sideways and rolls her eyes, upping her pace to get ahead of him, feigning exasperation (and adding a little hip movement to her steps). He's had to have the last word since the day he saved her from that first flying monkey. It's just like him to point out he was right. Some things never change.

It's comforting.

Strolling into the kitchen, she finds it nearly as pristine as she likes it. There's a bit of flour on the counter and tiles leading to the pantry, but the rest of the room is mostly spotless, a rare occurrence when cooking in the company of Robyn – hats off to her son for pulling that off. Breakfast for three is waiting on the island, Henry washing dishes while Robyn sprinkles their hot cocoas with cinnamon. The smell of freshly made pancakes fills the room, making her stomach grumble in anticipation.

Robin joins his daughter as Regina slides in next to her son and grabs the dish towel. "Thank you," she tells Henry, bumping his hip with hers. _For understanding, for giving us time, for making breakfast and taking care of Robyn as if she was your own sister_ – she doesn't say all this, but Henry throws her a knowing smile and nods.

"Anytime," he says, passing her a wet plate. Bowls, cutlery and dishes exchange hands for the next few minutes as they take care of everything dirtied to prepare their meal – more than necessary, Regina notes; that's what happens when you cook with a five-year-old.

When they're almost done, Henry sneaks a nosy glance at Robin, and then back to her. "So, how are you?" He's stopped washing, studying her face for any cracks she may be hiding.

She stops drying, peers over her son's shoulder at the man standing by his daughter's side, asking the young girl to help him carry the plates over to the dining room. Eager to help, Robyn drops her crayons and executes the task, leaving her father to clamber after her. As Robin warns the young girl to be careful and to _hold it with two hands, darling, not one, it's hot_ , Regina can't help it, the corners of her mouth lift up and a snicker escapes her throat. Robin looks behind him at the sound, raising a questioning brow at the two pairs of brown eyes watching his every move. Feigning innocence, Regina tilts her head to the side, pretending to not be talking about him, and he shakes his head, pupils flicking to the ceiling as he follows the youngest in the other room.

"We're good," she tells Henry when Robin has passed the threshold, feeling almost giddy as she says it. She knows full well everything is not behind them, but more than ever, she's willing to find a way to make it work. Somehow. (Snow White would have a field day with this.)

Tossing the towel aside and kissing Henry's hair, Regina grabs the two remaining plates and motions to Henry to leave the dishes and follow her as she joins Robin and her niece around the table.

The four of them eat breakfast together as a family, Robin enjoying conversation even though he doesn't need sustenance. There's no awkwardness this morning, no taboo subjects. A weight has been lifted off their shoulders and with it gone, Regina truly believe they'll be able to move forward. To be together – all of them – while accepting their differences and the obstacles they'll likely face.

Hope, it seems, has risen with dawn.


	5. Chapter 5

_Since it's been a while since the last update, here's a brief summary._

 _When we last left Regina and Robin, they'd just settled down after their big fight (and Regina throwing a fireball a his intangible form), but even though they've come to an understanding, they both know there's still a lot to learn about Robin's condition._

* * *

When news of Robin's reappearance reaches the Enchanted Forest, rust-colored leaves swirl about the opaque morning mist and the Merry Men's shallow breaths can be seen in front of them as they lug firewood back from the forest. Regina travels to their realm alone, finding their modest encampment in the woods in the exact same place she left it. The Merry Men welcome her arrival with surprised smiles — she was not expected for another month — warm hugs, and a bowl of whatever mixture Friar Tuck's been cooking over the fire. She prefers not to ponder the contents of the dish she swallows with difficulty, its taste — something with apples — thankfully better than its texture.

John is the first one to ask about Robyn. She usually brings the little girl with her when she visits and Roland's been looking forward to seeing his sister again. He'll be disappointed to know she stayed behind.

With the exact workings of the spell they cast still a mystery, Regina hadn't wanted to risk bringing her niece or her father along on this trip. What if travelling through the portal severed the connection between them, ripped the thread tying Robin to their world and made him disappear? She hates being away from them, out of reach, unable to help should something go wrong, but knowing them (relatively) safe from magical interference in Storybrooke appeases the curl of trepidation in her stomach. She can only try her best to protect them.

Her answer has every awake eye in the camp turn to her. Conversations stop. Bowls clatter to the ground. In the distance, birds whistle, fleeing the cooler temperatures about to settle on the region.

Robin — some version of him — is back.

The men around her can hardly believe it. Sometimes, she hardly believes it herself, expects to wake up and find her soulmate gone, all of this a beautifully cruel dream meant to hurt her.

Few things compare to the strain Robin's death had put on the Merry Men. The band of thieves may be living together still, but they had years ago stopped living up to the legacy of their name. Believing in the ideals they long fought for hadn't been enough. It soon became clear Robin was the one keeping them together. Their leader, their friend, their rock. They'd drifted without him, away and apart.

Their answer to this bit of good news is immediate. For the next few days, there's an anxious sense of excitement in the air as they get ready to move back to Storybrooke.

While Little John and Friar Tuck gather their small amount of possessions, Alan leaves on horseback to bring the news to old members of the band who have moved on with their lives. Everyone is curious to see whom Robin's return will bring back, Regina included. She'd been sad to realize how unhappy the Merry Men had become in the years following his sacrifice. By the time things had finally calmed down enough in Storybrooke for her to pay them a visit, Will had already gone, seeking adventure and a second chance in places that did not remind him of what he'd lost. More had followed his example, month after month, leaving to help the rebuilding efforts in different parts of the kingdom, to marry into another, less broken family, or to go on thrilling quests, looking for stimulation amongst long lost artefacts. Some waited until her next visit to bid her farewell; others simply left notes with John, explaining their fresh start could not await her next visit.

For the longest time, Regina thought the group would not survive at all. John had aged ten years in three, bearing the weight of his failure to keep Robin's men together. Guilt had eaten at Alan until it devoured him whole and he nearly took his own life a few months after Robin's passing. Robin had saved him when he was just a young man, John had told her when she visited a few weeks after the fact, and his failure to repay the favour when Robin's time came haunted him. It was John who had found him, and brought him to a healer just in time. As for Tuck, he had gone back to old habits, finding solace at the bottom of a bottle.

Regina had protected them as best as she could, helped when and where they let her, but in the end it's the little man currently picking out mushrooms at the edge of camp who'd saved them from self-destruction. Roland has grown to be an eloquent ten-year-old despite the company he keeps, something that is somewhat of a mystery to Regina. She guesses the boy has more of his mother in him, a thirst of knowledge that rivals only Henry's, devouring novels and books faster than Regina can bring him new ones. Robin will be proud when he sees him again. The boy has made John smile, gave Alan a new purpose, and stopped Tuck form carrying a flask in the inside pocket of his cape. He's brought happiness to this ragtag group of people and allowed them to call each other family again.

It's with many of their missing friends that, a week later, they come back to Storybrooke.

When the portal opens, Robin is waiting for them on Main Street, flanked on each side by Henry and Robyn, standing near the archway leading to the entrance of Granny's Diner.

Behind them, a crowd worthy of their grandest celebrations has assembled on the terrace, prying eyes peeking over the fence at the people coming through the portal. Regina, Roland and John step out of the vortex first, followed by Tuck and Alan, Will and Anastasia, Arthur, Much, Mulan and others Alan had found in the last few days, everyone of them eager to see Robin again.

The volume of chatter amongst those assembled in front of Granny's raises and exclamations of pure joy erupt as friends spot each other across the street, but one sound surpasses every other voice in attendance: Roland's yell of _Papa!_ ,which has everyone's heart melting and a roaring applause starting.

Happy endings — this town does love them.

Before she lets the boy run off to his dad, Regina crouches next to him and cradles his hand in her palm. His short legs can barely hold in place, but he gives Regina his full attention. "Remember what I explained," she says, a somber expression casting a shadow upon her face. "You can't touch him."

Roland nods, so grown up and understanding, "I know, Regina," and she nods back, nudging him forward with her hand.

Not needing to be told twice, the boy sprints towards Henry and Robyn before Regina has even stood up. They both welcome him with wide open arms, crushing their brother into an embrace while Robin bends down to be of equal height with his son. Roland has grown so much since he's last seen him; Regina can see the bittersweet mix of pride, joy and regret, succeeding each other rapidly on his face. Blinking away one emotion to leave room for the next one, until it's all a blur.

She watches the scene from a distance, giving them a moment to be. Robin takes a good look at his son, separated from him by only a foot. His trembling hand hovers close to Roland's face, never touching him like Regina knows he longs to, but as close as he possibly can be. She wipes her lower eyelid with the back of her hand, catching her tears before they give her away.

"He's a strong boy," she hears John say beside her. His hand finds the small of her back, offering a touch of silent support.

Regina leans back into his hand, taking in some of the strength he's offering. "He is," she echoes, not bothering to hide her sniffles now that everyone but them has joined the crowd by the diner's entrance.

She'd come to have a lot of respect for John over over the last few years. He'd opened his camp to her despite his previous misgivings about her character and had never questioned the depth of her feelings for his best friend or the scars she carried everywhere with her. Robin's death had brought them closer, had allowed them to understand each other in a way they never did before, and Little John had rapidly become a protective, sometime overbearing big brother the former Evil Queen could always count on, and vice versa — who would have thought?

She glances briefly at him now, before turning her head back towards Robin and Roland, the latter excitedly chatting his father about all sorts of thing. "You know, he owes that strength to you." She tilts her chin back towards him. "You've done a great job with him."

A pair of inquisitive eyes are on her as soon as she finishes speaking. "Why, Your Majesty, was that a compliment?" he teases, knowing very well she won't let him get away with more than that.

She pins her lips together and pulls her gaze away. "Don't get used to it," she warns, stalking away from him, though not without letting him catch a glimpse of her smirk.

 **::**

Granny's is so full, one can barely walk without bumping elbows with someone. Snow has outdone herself gathering everyone Robin loves in one place and providing some of the best food the Land Without Magic has to offer. Roland stuffs himself on Granny's lasagna, beer flows amongst his men, and she sees Robin be overcome with emotion more than once, pausing to survey the room with his gaze, taking in every single person he cares about, everyone reunited for him.

There's a shadow in his eyes, however, a dark cloud hanging over his head.

They don't know how long this will last.

She finds him in the back hallway, where once they exchanged kisses that left her giddy and breathless. A little over five years that was; a lifetime ago, it seems. Even at the beginning of their relationship, Robin wouldn't let her leave him without a smile on her face. He'd told her he dreamt of her smile; she wonders if he still does.

Does he dream? He doesn't sleep.

Flying monkeys, Wicked Witches and lost memories seem easy compared to their current challenge. Their young love knew nothing of what fate reserved for them, but as Robin lifts her head to meet her gaze, Regina leaning against the archway, she finds herself thinking she'd do it all over again. Without hesitation, she'd relive every heartache this relationship has ever caused her if it meant being loved by the man in front of her.

The thought surprises even herself, for there was a time, not so long ago, she'd have preferred never knowing that kind of devotion to someone. It's scary, sometimes, how far she's come.

"How do you feel?" she asks, turning the corner and putting more distance between her and the noise of the main room. Loud conversations turn to whispers as she walks towards Robin.

His shoulders hang low and he sighs. "I hate that I can't cry."

They'd discovered some of the limits of his existence since he first appeared. Though his body can move about their world in much the same way theirs can; his reality is one without life. While he has thoughts and feelings of his own, he is merely an image, a shell of himself. From Regina's understanding, the realm of imaginary friends seems akin to the Underworld, exactly like their own, but with a few differences. The spell had allowed him to cross over to their realm, but only partially, and the rules of existence and this type of magic are still very much confusing.

"We can't have all that we want," she tells him, crossing her arms in front of her chest.

It's a sad truth she's laying out before him. She too wishes he was real — or real _er_. She wants to touch him and feel him, more than she can adequately put into words.

He looks at her as though she's just punched him in the gut, but she's only telling the truth. They'd promised each other no more hidden feelings, no more lies. The only way this was going to work was if they were honest with one another, and the truth is she wishes she could do more than just stare at him. He isn't the only one hurting.

"I know," he replies, eyes dragging down to stare at his feet.

It seems it's all they have to say and she leaves him to compose himself, heading back towards the dining area when he says her name and she pauses.

"Thank you," he adds when she turns around, his voice sincere, his heart in the right place, just like it always is. This situation is hard for him, for her — for both of them. They can only acknowledge it and do their best to navigate it.

She nods, offers him a small smile — they're okay, she means — and passes through the threshold, disappearing into the crowd.

 **::**

The bedroom is drowned in the faint, warm glow of her bedside lamp, the only light in the room as Regina pulls on her duvet, ready to slip in for the night. Raucous laughter erupts downstairs, the too many guests she'd agreed to host for the night having a hard time being quiet. She wonders how Roland got any sleep in that camp.

"I'm sorry for the crowd." His voice, coming from the doorway, doesn't surprise her like it used to. Despite being unable to hear the padded steps of his coming and going, she can sense him, somehow. It's not a feeling she can explain, but she's stopped trying to. All of this is inexplicable. Magic is involved in a way they can't fully understand, and she's decided to let it be.

Robin steps further into the room as she walks around to close the door behind him. "It was inevitable," she states, facing his unnecessary apologetic eyes. She smiles and shrugs. "They missed you. I can't have you all to myself all the time."

She can't have him at all, in fact. He's a ghost. A ghost she sees, hears, talks to, but is unable to touch.

He doesn't let her linger on that particularly sad train of thought. "Roland and Robyn are out for the night," he informs her, effectively pulling her away from the ledge of misery she was teetering over. "I thought we could turn in too."

Another fit of laughter reaches their ears. "Are you sure you'd rather not join _them_?" Regina asks, walking over to her side of the bed.

"Trying to get rid of me?" Robin teases, but quickly drops his playful air when he sees the look on her face.

The mattress dips under Regina's weight as she sits on her bed. Her hand traces the folds in the soft egyptian cotton, twirling in the fabric. "I just want you to do what you want." She won't meet his gaze. "We don't know how long this spell will last."

Silently, Robin climbs onto the bed, too, though the mattress does not give into his weight. He leans in, doesn't move an inch of his body until she's turned her head in his direction.

Up close like this, she can see every detail of his face: eyelashes, the swirl of magic in the blue of his eyes, wrinkles at the corner of his eyes, that damn lopsided grin. "My soulmate gave me a second chance at saying goodbye to everyone I care about," he says, unblinking. "She reunited my family under her roof and asked for nothing in return." His hand drifts to rest an inch away from hers. "I'd quite like to spend time with her."

The corner of Regina's lips pull upward, the hushed reassurances that she's worth his time, dead or alive, bringing some peace to her restless mind.

Her hand shifts then, accidentally colliding with his intangible form. His hand flickers upon contact. Ripples travel up his arm, through his body, as a wave on water, receding once it hits the shore.

"Sorry!" She cradle her hand to her chest, as far from him as she can.

Robin shakes his head. "No harm done."

"Don't lie to me." Worry laces her voice. "You wavered."

"I did." He holds up his hand for her to look at, before passing it through his stomach in a straight line. His image fluctuates in front of her eyes, like a TV with bad reception. "Like I told you a few weeks ago, it doesn't hurt. Please don't feel bad every time it happens." He waits, stares at her to make sure his words sink in. "It's bound to happen again seeing as I can't keep away from you."

It's a mutual feeling, one that appeases her worries, though doesn't fully remove the lump in her throat. "Noted," she agrees, her gaze travelling up and down his body one last time to make sure he's really all right.

Robin smirks.

"I should sleep," she tells him when she's convinced he won't disappear the moment she closes her eyes. He looks disappointed. "I still have to deal with your men in the morning."

She reaches for the switch on her bedside lamp, plunging the room in darkness. Scooting down underneath the covers, she listens to the rumble of the drunken Merry Men, to the sound of her breathing, and to the silence that has fallen upon her bedroom. In another life, this is the result of too much fun during a family gathering, in which Snow White makes fun of her for falling in love with a thief. Said thief steals her away from their guests to make out with her in the hallway, only to be walked in on by her son, all three of them blushing a deep shade of red. There is no way any of their friends are driving home in their state, so they pile up in Regina's spare rooms and couches, taking all the extra space she didn't need for so long.

It's everything her life could have been, but isn't, as fate has seen it fit to rip her soulmate, his friends, her friends, and their possible future life away from her too soon.

The bedsheets shuffle as she turns, trying in vain to find a comfortable position. She reaches blindly for the light switch, turns it back on.

"Can't sleep?" comes his knowing voice from beside her. He hasn't moved an inch, is still looking at her as though her gaze holds the answers to the universe. Once, it was enough to make her believe she did.

She wishes it was true, then maybe she could fix him. If there is anything to fix.

Propping her pillow against the headboard, Regina sits up, mimicking Robin's position. The bottom of her spine twists at an awkward angle, but no matter how many times she shifts her position, straightens her back, or crosses then uncrosses her legs, she can't seem to relieve the tension. She sighs and abandons the very thought of having a restful and pleasant night. It seems her body won't have it —

"Why does Robyn call you Regina?"

— and neither will Robin.

Her entire self suddenly becomes very still. Her eyes dart to the other end of the room, as far away from his as they possibly can. Her eyelids fall shut and she breathes, willing her heartbeat to slow as his loaded question sinks in.

When she looks at him again, it's with a deflective quizzical look and her usual snark. "That's my name," she answers with a mask of confidence she prays will not let her fears peek through. She'd forgotten how blunt Robin could be, putting her on the spot when she least expects it, asking questions no one else dares to address. Even with her past actions well behind them, the people in this town prefer to leave a matter untouched rather than risk igniting her anger. Not Robin. How many times had they engaged in verbal sparring during their all-too-brief courtship? How often had she run away to the solitude of her tower to avoid answering questions just like this one? Dragging her heavy gown behind her, trying to hide how much his words had affected her, lodging into her heart like a well-aimed arrow.

She has no tower to hide in this time. They're in her home, in her bed, which were almost his, too. He's seen her at her most vulnerable and he knows his aim is true.

His head inclines to one side, eyebrows raised in an unimpressed arch. "You know what I mean."

She does. She hoped she was wrong.

"How long have you been wanting to ask me this question?" If she's going to answer it, he may as well be completely honest with her.

"Since the car accident."

It takes Regina a moment to recall the event he's referring to: a quiet summer day, the sun high in the sky. Tires, screeching. Robyn so proud of herself for catching a butterfly, having no clue of the emotional turmoil in which she'd put the dwarf driving the car, the witnesses and, most of all, her aunt.

 _Look, Regina, I caught it!_

She'd called her Regina. Not for the first time, but probably for the first time in Robin's presence.

"And now is the moment you choose to bring it up?"

He shrugs. "We're alone and not sleeping. Seems as good a time as any."

Regina shakes her head. "I was really hoping we'd never have this conversation," she confesses, eyes drifting down to the sheets. Hands joining on her lap, she fiddles with her own fingers.

"Well, we're having it."

There's the bluntness again. Served straight up, just like always.

For a few seconds, she's brought back to her castle and the overpowering need to get away from him seeps into her every bone. She pushes away the covers, flings her legs to the side and stands up, although her steps only bring her as far as the foot of the bed. With everyone sleeping at her house tonight, there isn't anywhere to hide. The mansion may be big, but it's no palace.

Out of the corner of her eyes, she spies Robin walking slowly towards her and smiles despite herself. She'd said no space and he's listening to her, not giving her an inch, but respectfully waiting her out when she needs time to process like she does now.

She thinks about raising Robyn, her soulmate's daughter — her _sister's_ daughter. The little girl is too young to remember her biological mother. Slight preferences like apples and ice cream aside, she spent the last two and a half years in a home with her aunt and Henry, who treats her like a sibling, who loves her despite the heartache her conception had brought his mother. She, herself, sees Robyn as her own child when it comes to important decisions like school and teaching her the values love and family that will serve her throughout her life.

But does that give her the right to be called any other name than her own?

By the time Zelena sacrificed herself, Regina had forgiven her sister, as much as one could given the circumstances. While the Charmings were family, they also had each other when she wasn't around and Regina selfishly wanted a family of her own. Forgiving Zelena seemed like the easiest way to achieve her goal.

The two years they had together were filled with love and laughter, despite the destruction that had brought them there.

And Robyn, she knows nothing of her origins. She has a huge heart, is lovable and precious and a gem to everyone's eyes, especially Regina's. Perhaps when she's older, Regina will tell her about her story. It seems only fair to prepare her to fate's prejudiced treatment of their family, seeing as she has Mills blood running through her veins.

Sometimes, it feels as if a curse is following their bloodline, though Zelena seems to have escaped the brunt of it.

"I'm not her mother," she finally tells Robin because it's as simple as that — she needs it to be this simple.

He moves forward into her line of vision, his entire body poised to disagree with her. "Regina, our future may have been stolen, but not hers." His hands fist and he shakes his head. "I want you to take your rightful place in her life."

She immediately peers up at him, ready to protest. "But Zelena–"

"Screw biology!" He's angry, neck tense, shoulders and back rigid. "I know in the end she died for the right reasons, but that doesn't change the fact that I still hold her responsible for what happened." His gaze is hard, unforgiving, and if she didn't know about the goodness of his heart, she may have been scared by the look in his eyes. He seems to realize he's lost control, blinking away his frustration, and his tone is much kinder when he continues. "You may have forgiven her — that's all right. That's _you_. It's who you are. You have a big and beautiful heart, capable of so much more love than any I've seen before."

"I held a grudge against Snow White for forty years," she sasses back because what he's saying can't be true. Her heart is black, black and dark and cursed.

Robin's eyebrow shoots up. "Need I remind you you also failed to actually kill her at every opportunity you had during those forty years? If you had truly wanted her out of your life, she would not be a part of your family right now," he points out, daring her to say otherwise.

She hates when he's right.

"And your heart — your heart is what I fell in love with. That someone so… someone who has been through so much could find it in themselves to care about another person the way you did for your son was captivating. You were not at all what I expected — you _are_ not at all what I expected. I can't begrudge you forgiving your sister, or wanting to move on and share your life with her — she's your sister, and you're a good person — but I haven't. I'm not that good of a man. As far as I'm concerned, you may not have changed Robyn's diapers, but you held her when she cried, you taught her to count and to spell, and you love her as though she was your own, even when you have every reason not to. You're her mother, Regina, in all the ways that matter." Though crying is not an option for him at the moment, he sniffles and his voice is heavy with emotion. "In exactly the way I wanted you to be… for the however brief moment I had to think about it."

Regina gives up on not crying halfway through his speech. Tears spill out on her cheeks around the time he calls her Robyn's mother, and it's not long before her shoulders are shaking, sobs wracking her entire body. She cants her head upward, looking at him through water-filled eyes. "What if I can't?" she whispers, thinking of her mother, Zelena and herself and how many bad choices they'd made over the years. Motherhood isn't a gift the Mills women have inherited. She raised Henry, but his lineage of that of a hero. He will never be seen as anything other than what he is, whereas Robyn will be forced to carry the burden of a family she didn't ask for. "Look at how the woman in my family turned out." _Look at me._

His hand reach upward, a force of habit, before he lets it fall back to his side in defeat with a frustrated sigh.

"I know," she echoes. This is torture, seeing but being unable to touch, having him _right there,_ within arms reach, yet a whole universe apart.

She hates this — hates talking, despises it. Ingrained in her are the lessons she's been raised with, the reiterated mantra to not ever let her weaknesses show. It hasn't occurred to her before the past couple of weeks how often Robin and her had used touch over words to convey feelings. When she first allowed herself to be vulnerable with him, words were secondary to his presence by her side. She never had to _tell_ him how she felt; he just understood. He still does, except now he can't reach for her hand to offer reassurances, can't cradle her into his arms when she carries the weight of the world on her shoulders, and can't make promises of forever through soft presses of his lips.

"If Robyn turns out to be half the woman you are," she opens her eyes when she speaks — hadn't realized they'd drifted shut — and, true to himself, he's read right in-between the lines of her fears. "I'll be the happiest and proudest father there is."

She steps tentatively closer to him, close enough she has to bring her chin up to see his face. Since he came back, this is the closest they've been and she notices little things she's forgotten: the lines at the corner of his eyes when he smiles, the various shades of blue in his irises, the specks of grey in his hair. It's enough to make her believe this uncorporeal form is truly him. An image almost as real as she is, as Robyn is, only out of touch, out of reach.

A defeated tear escapes her eye.

"What is it?" Concern laces his voice. Kind. Always too kind.

She wishes she could stomp on the floor, yell or throw a fit like Robyn does when things don't go her way, but she's an adult, reduced to clenching fists, nails digging painful crescents into her palms to let out her rage. When she speaks, it's as though her voice doesn't belong to her. She doesn't know who that woman is, begging for things she knows to be impossible, yet she's saying them, cracking open for Robin once more, telling him truths she'd normally keep to herself. "I really wish I could kiss you right now."

Instead of the defeated look he'd had earlier, a new resolve settles on his face. He presses his lips together, gets this pensive air about him, and asks, "Do you trust me?"

It's a stupid question, she thinks, but the intensity of his gaze robs her of speech, and she can only nod, not trusting her voice.

"Close your eyes." She does so, a curl of trepidation settling in her stomach. "Don't move."

At first, nothing happens. She doesn't know what she expects will happen. They can't kiss. He knows it as well as she. But then, he's talking, his voice gone soft and warm, and her spine straightens at his words. "My arm wraps around your waist. My hand splays at the small of your back, and I bring you in closer, cradling the left side your jaw in my palm." Does she imagine it or does her skin really prickle where he says his hand is? "My thumb swipes back and forth on the apple of your cheek." _Is he…?_ She barely has time to formulate a thought on what's happening that he's interrupting her with more. "The pads of my fingers are a little rough against your skin — sorry I was out shooting all day."

Regina opens her eyes without warning, needing to see for herself that he's doing what she thinks he's doing. She finds his blue eyes a few inches away from hers, staring intently at her slightly parted lips. His arms and hands are exactly where he's described them, hovering over the places he'd normally hold her, as close he can without having them going through her. One false move on her part and the illusion shatters. "Robin—" she nearly chokes on his name, emotion looping around her throat.

"Close your eyes, love, please." Desperate eyes implore her to trust him, to let him try this, and while she has little faith this is going to work, she does have faith in one thing: him.

Nodding almost imperceptibly so as not to disturb the precarious line between their realities, Regina lets her eyelids fall shut again, relaxing her shoulders and clearing her thoughts. As she imagines him holding her, letting his words fill her mind and body the way his presence would when he was alive, her doubt drifts away, leaving room in her mind for only one thing: him and her.

Robin is silent for a few seconds, lets the moment grow heavier, and she thinks this is just like him, promising to sweep her off her feet and letting things drag on and on and on. She keeps her eyes closed, but can't help but flirt, "If you're going to kiss me, you better do it today," arching one challenging brow.

It breaks the tension, just as she wanted, and she smiles as he chuckles, the sound even warmer than she remembers for she can't see his face, has to rely on her other senses and imagination to paint the picture of the moment: the flash of his dimples when he grins, teeth digging into his lower lip as he contemplates her face, the way his eyes will not leave hers. Eagerness chases away the last of her apprehension, lips parting as she exhales.

"I'm brushing a thumb over your upper lip, from left to right, stopping over the scar you don't like, but which makes you all the more attractive to my eyes. Your story is etched onto your face, Regina, and you're beautiful not in spite of it, but because of it." She thought she'd cried every tear in her body, but a new one slips between her eyelashes. Damn him. "I'm leaning in closer, pressing my lips over the soft dent in your skin, lingering for a few seconds to make sure it sinks into that beautiful, stubborn brain of yours," his words draw up a corner of her mouth, "that you're the most courageous, brilliant and amazing woman I've ever set eyes on." Regina resists the urge to open her eyes, wants to move forward and capture his lips badly, but she can't — they can't. Still, despite how frustrating he's making this moment, her mouth curves upward, cheeks flushing with his compliments. "There, that's more like it," Robin says, and she knows a satisfied smirk to be anchored to his lips as he says it. "I'm going to wipe the trail of that tear and kiss you until you forget how to breathe. Can you feel it?" She can feel him, almost. "I'm hovering, just an inch above your mouth, and closing the distance, capturing those magnificent lips of yours in a slow, languid kiss. Your head inclines to the left," Regina does just what he says, completely lost in this world he's created, "as mine goes right, and I pull you even closer. My fingers thread through your hair, pushing it behind your ear as we delve in deeper—"

"Robin?" She's breathless when she says his name, but keeps her eyes firmly shut.

"Yeah?" she hears him say, panting, too.

"Shut up."

He does as he's asked, but she doesn't move, moaning in the back of her throat at all the sensations his kiss has stirred inside her body, and she revels in that, revels in him, in his words. The air between their mouth tickles. She can almost _feel_ him, his lips unmoving above hers, _on hers_ , giving and taking, his mouth pliant against her own.

When she opens her eyes, he's still impossibly close to her, deep blue eyes staring right into her soul. "I love you," she breathes against his mouth, her body refusing to move an inch, for fear of losing this brief connection they've established, but the clock is ticking, and they're running out of time. Soon, they'll have to part, to return to their respective realities, together yet apart.

"I love you too," he whispers.

It occurs to her that this is the first time they've said the words out loud. Yet another thing that they'd communicated without words, letting their actions speak for themselves, believing they had eternity to get around to telling each other how they felt.

"This is unfair." Her voice breaks. Water rushes to her eyes. "You should have been a part of her life."

Robin shakes his head. "I _am_ a part of her life — of your lives. I'll always live on in your hearts."

Regina can feel her resolve shaking, breaking down and crumbling to her feet. She trembles in her want of impossible things, murmurs a barely audible wish for his ears only: "I want to make love to you."

* * *

 _As you can probably guess, rating will go up in the next chapter._


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